


To Satiate

by PaperBagGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst because it's Soren, Comedy, Cooking, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, University AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperBagGirl/pseuds/PaperBagGirl
Summary: Soren never expected to meet someone at a university cooking club, of all places — in fact, he never expected to meet someone period — but when it came to Ike, he just couldn't help himself.Currently on semi-indefinite hiatus.





	1. The First Recipe: Omelette

**Author's Note:**

> Look, what's this? A gratuitous slow burn University AU nobody asked for? Heavens! What has this world come to?
> 
> Credit to Measured's modern AUs for acting as my inspiration for this fic. You'll see ghosts of her headcanons here but none of her style or flair~

Soren frowned at the mess others would call architecture, and wondered why he even bothered. Pausing for a second, he fished out the print-out from his backpack to confirm its contents. Indeed it was just as he remembered it — Room 221C. Cooking Lessons for the Starving University Student. Saturdays at 10:00 AM. Soren felt the name was a little on-the-nose, but it was close, convenient, and most importantly free.

Not that he really needed cooking lessons in the first place.

If Soren had a choice, he’d rather stay in his room and read unassigned textbook chapters, sustenance be damned. It wasn’t like he had a big appetite to begin with; he could easily survive on dry rations and tap water. But when his mother stopped by for a surprise visit during winter break, she had been so horrified by his eating habits that she had insisted on staying with him for the rest of his school year.

Soren grimaced at the thought. He applied to an out-of-state university to get away from his overbearing mother, so giving her any reason to stick around was not an option. It had taken hours to calm her hysteria and even longer to convince her that he would be fine on his own.

The cooking lessons were a compromise. She wouldn’t take him out of school as long as he provided daily proof that he was eating well.

Backing out was never an option, horrible architecture be damned.

Finally, Soren spotted a door that blended in with the concave stairwell (why anyone would design such a hallway was beyond him). He felt himself relax as he confirmed the room number: 221C. The first step to this meaningless ordeal was over.

Carefully turning the doorknob, Soren slipped into the back of the room and took note of his surroundings. The parallel counters, the perpendicular aisles, and the evenly spaced windows on the eastern wall led him to believe that another, more competent architect had designed the room. Each station came with a stove, pristine countertops, and miniature refrigerators that went up to his thigh. Soren reckoned this was where all his tuition was going to.

He quickly moved to an unoccupied counter towards the back of the class, claiming it for himself. The room was fairly empty at the moment, but Soren was a little early and he had no idea how many people would come. Shrugging out of his winter jacket, he settled down and observed the others.  

Directly in front of him were two men who seemed to be arguing in low voices. The one with long, blonde hair and delicate features had an unyielding expression as he spoke. His partner, muscular with a face adorned with scars, looked rather unenthused as he flashed a devil-may-care smile.

A little further up stood a woman with wispy brown hair. Her posture was straight and rigid as she scoured through what appeared to be handmade notes. Despite her disciplined appearance, there was a clumsiness to her movements as she inspected her tools, clearly out of her element.

In the same row, a girl dressed in lilac stared listlessly ahead, looking like she was about to collapse from anemia. She appeared to be muttering something under her breath but Soren couldn’t hear anything from where he stood.

Standing at the very front of the classroom were two young men in the middle of a conversation. While both of them had similar facial features, they were as different as night and day. One of them had green hair which stood up like a broom and an honest (albeit simple) face.The other one looked more refined — sporting a mild smile while wearing a crisp, white apron. When Soren’s eyes met his, he excused himself from the conversation and made his way towards Soren’s station.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but would you happen to be Soren?” He asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Soren replied tersely.

The man’s smile widened. “That’s a relief, I’m glad you made it here. I’ve been told the room is a little hard to find.”

Soren must have shirked at the attempt at small-talk, as the man faltered for a moment before he continued. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Oscar, a third year food sciences student, and the president of this club. I just wanted to thank you for signing up.”

Oscar paused, as if expecting Soren to respond in some way. Soren responded with a stern stare.

“I-I’m not sure how much you know about this club so I’ll give you a brief run through of what we do here,” Oscar said, quickly regaining his composure. “Each week we’ll be trying something new. Apologies but signing up is mandatory since the ingredients and recipe will be provided to you for free at the start of every class.”

“You don’t need to reiterate. I was aware of this before I signed up.” Soren replied coolly. “Class will begin with a demonstration, followed by a practical session where you will provide individual guidance.”

“That’s... correct,” Oscar said, looking more surprised than offended at Soren’s interruption. “Erm… Regarding the practical session, since most students are complete beginners who also need my help, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer your questions on the spot. Because of that, I’ll be pairing you up with a more experienced member for the first few sessions. Is that alright with you?”

Soren’s eyes narrowed at the thought of a partner but ultimately nodded in reply.

“Great, it’s a pleasure having you here, Soren.” Oscar smiled and returned to his position in the front of the classroom.

With this, Soren felt the tension ease in his shoulders. Oscar’s description closely matched his expectations - the only real variable Soren couldn’t account for was his partner. Pondering for a moment, Soren determined that the situation was still acceptable: he’d be free of them after a few sessions, and Soren could bear with that. As long as the instructor didn’t turn out to be completely inept, he could make peace with spending his Saturday mornings here.

“Alright, it’s 10 o’clock so let’s get started,” Oscar spoke, directing everyone’s attention to the front of the class.

“Last week I was challenged to make a meal out of ingredients commonly found in the university student’s fridge, and finally the results of the poll are in. It turns out, most of your fridges are full of beer, microwavable dinners, instant noodles, and eggs.” Oscar smiled wryly. “Honestly, I wonder how you all survive.”

The broom-haired man snickered and Soren resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“That’s why we’ll be making a simple egg dish that will hopefully inspire you to add some variety to your meals. Today, we’ll be learning to make omelettes-”

_“Unhand me! I will not permit disgrace in front of my greatest rival!”_

The door swung open at that moment to reveal a girl and a boy, dragging along a young man who was struggling wildly (to no avail).

Soren looked distastefully at the latecomers, taking in their appearances. The girl, who was a little out of breath, had blue eyes, brown hair, and a sweet countenance. The boy standing beside her was much larger in stature, with a head of blue hair and steady blue eyes. He gripped the back of the loud man’s shirt, hoisting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Soren paused. He couldn’t help but feel like the blue-haired boy looked familiar somehow.

The girl smiled apologetically. “Sorry, we’re late again! A certain _someone_ overslept. ”

“That’s alright, Mist. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Ike to show up.” Oscar said, bemused, as he looked at the blue-haired boy.

“Oscar, there’s no way we wouldn’t be here to support you,” Ike said. “But sleeping in is on me, my bad.”

“Oscar! My one true archrival, I have arrived to challenge you to yet another duel!” The dangling man all but shouted, kicking his feet as if treading air would help him out of his predicament.

“Hi, Kieran. Still hanging in there, huh?” Oscar smiled.

“We picked him up along the way,” Mist said. “Looks like he got lost again.”

“I shall not be bested by these halls!”

Ike took that as a sign and dropped Kieran unceremoniously to the ground. Undeterred, the fiery idiot leapt back to his feet with astounding energy, and was about to assault Soren’s eardrums once more when Oscar spoke up. “Kieran, class has already begun. The sooner you get to your station, the sooner we can have our duel, right?

“As expected of my archrival!” Kieran turned and obediently walked towards an empty station near the front of the room. Ike and Mist shrugged out of their winter jackets and joined him, walking towards the broom-haired man.

After scanning the room to make sure everyone had settled in, Oscar cleared his throat in attention. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin. Can everyone gather around the front for the demonstration?”

Soren briskly made his way to Oscar’s cooking station, but being a person of short stature stationed towards the back of the room, he quickly found himself walled out by the larger members of the crowd. Soren cleared his throat loudly (and unsubtly) but the walls of meat stayed ever still. He was about to start pushing when he heard someone speak up.

“Hey Boyd, move over for a sec.” Soren looked in the direction of the voice and met Ike’s eyes.  

“Huh?” The broom-haired man (Boyd), turned to look at Ike before noticing Soren standing behind him. “Oh, sorry about that! You should’ve said something, sheesh.”

Soren responded with a chilling glare before pushing his way into the small gap Boyd created. Settling into position near the front with the rest of the vertically challenged, Soren glanced up at Ike and found him amicably conversing with the blonde man. After a moment’s hesitation, Soren stayed his tongue and turned his attention back to Oscar.

“Alright, let’s begin,” Oscar said, after confirming each member’s presence. “The first step to any type of cooking is in the preparation of the ingredients. With the omelette, it’s very simple. All you’ll need is two eggs and some seasoning if you happen to be on a budget. Of course, many of you will want to put things inside your omelette, so that’s where we’ll begin.”

Soren stood there with apt attention, pointedly ignoring the rigid woman’s furious notetaking.

“Before you do anything else, you’ll need to start with your filling. To simplify things we’ll be using ham, mushroom, and onions — though most other things would work fine. If you have any dietary concerns, feel free to omit items as you see fit.”

Soren looked at the set of ingredients placed onto Oscar’s station and ignored how the blonde man glared at the ham like it had personally offended him.

“We’ve already prepared the quantity needed, but as a general rule of thumb, you’ll want to have a 1/3 cup of filling for every two eggs,” Oscar said. “Can everyone in the back see? I’ll begin the demonstration now.”

The scarred man flashed an ok sign and Boyd grinned, while Ike remained impassive. Oscar must have taken that as an affirmation as he washed the mushrooms and peeled the onions before placing the meat and vegetables onto separate cutting boards.

With quick and nimble movements, he diced the meat and onions into perfect cubes and cut the mushrooms into thin slices. Once the three piles of chopped ingredients were ready, he added a dollop of butter to the frying pan, filling the air with its mellow scent.

Soren did his best to take in the rest of the details, but it became quite apparent that Oscar was a master of his craft. His simple yet fluid movements produced a perfect, fluffy omelette within what felt like minutes.

“Ready to give it a try? Remember, don’t worry about doing everything perfectly and take your time. We have this room booked until 2:00 PM.”

The lilac-clothed girl beside Soren raised a shaky hand.

“Yes Ilyana, you can eat the sample, as always,” Oscar said, bemused.

Ilyana looked up at Oscar with worship before gingerly taking the finished omelette back to her station.

As the crowd dispersed, Soren returned to his station and leafed through the recipe. After confirming its contents, he began preparing the two different vegetables. Just as he finished washing the mushrooms, he heard the sound of steadily approaching footsteps. Looking up, he saw Ike standing by his station.

“...Can I help you?” Soren asked dryly.

“You’re Soren right?”

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ike. Oscar should’ve mentioned it to you, but I’ll be your station partner for the next while.”

Soren took a moment to size Ike up. Honestly, it could’ve been worse. If his partner had been Kieran, Soren might not have been able to last the hour. Making peace with the arrangement, Soren nodded and turned back to peel his onions.

Ike watched Soren’s movements for a bit before starting on his own omelette. Soren glanced at him from the corner of his eye as Ike washed his vegetables. Ike’s movements were rough and unpracticed; with a slip of the hand, he accidentally took off an extra couple of layers from his onion.

Soren did his best to ignore his temporary station partner’s clumsy movements, focusing instead on thinly slicing his mushrooms. He noted the sharpness of the knife as it easily sank into the cap, cutting into the stalk. After a few uneven slices, Soren frowned and quickly adjusted his strategy. Slowing down, he carefully aligned the knife to the appropriate thickness before sending it down resolutely.

“I’d offer to help but it doesn’t look like you need it.” Soren nearly dropped a mushroom at the sudden statement. He turned around and saw Ike looking over his shoulder with interest. “I think you’re better than most people in this room combined.”

Soren snorted in disbelief. Ike shook his head and continued. “No, seriously. I’m pretty good at cutting stuff but I’m all strength and no delicacy, as Mist calls it. Mist, on the other hand, overcooks everything she touches. Her meatloaf tastes more like brick.”

“Ike, shut up!” An egg came flying Ike’s way, which he dodged with surprising precision. Having missed, Mist stuck out her tongue before turning back in an attempt to salvage her burning butter.

“Sisters.” Ike snorted, cleaning up the shattered egg.

Soren stared at his onions, ignoring this new information. The onions were tricky, and Soren needed to concentrate before tackling them. He recalled the way Oscar skillfully handled the vegetable and decided to mimic his movements. The moment Soren’s knife cut through the crisp flesh, a pungent, spicy smell assaulted him. Soren ignored the chemical irritant, but the brief lapse in concentration caused him to completely slice off a sliver of onion.

Soren glared at the onion like it was the enemy (and in some ways, it was). That single sliver had prevented him from achieving the same effect Oscar had. Nonetheless, Soren pushed onward, cutting the vegetable into equal slivers before doubling back, making similar, perpendicular cuts. Due to mistakes, they weren’t perfect cubes, but ultimately Soren’s pile of diced onion looked passable.  

Taking a break from scrutinizing his onions, Soren glanced over at Ike’s station which had somehow turned into a battlefield within minutes. With an incredibly serious expression on his face, Ike wielded the knife as if the vegetables had murdered his father and he was out for revenge. Knife cuts went deep into the cutting board, scraps scattered onto the tiled floor, and in the midst of it Ike had somehow managed to cut both cleanly and precisely.

The corner of Soren’s mouth twitched. If Ike was considered an experienced member, he thoroughly dreaded the others’ performances.

Taking a quick look around, Soren saw Ilyana passed out on the floor, the stern woman (who Soren still didn’t know the name of) bandaging multiple cuts on her fingers with the help of Oscar, Mist starting over after prematurely burning her butter, Boyd teasing her about it and getting punched in the stomach, and Kieran shouting nonsense. The only people cooking normally were the two men in front of him, and one of them kept trying to sneak ham onto the cutting board while the other kept batting it away. Suddenly Soren felt like Ike’s praise wasn’t just meaningless posturing.

Regardless, Soren set his focus back to his station. The ham was easy compared to the onion, and soon he was ready to cook his filling. Soren turned on the stove and waited for the pan to heat up when suddenly a tower of fire erupted from a station up front. Kieran shouted his usual spiel about losing to his rival while Oscar calmly retrieved the fire extinguisher, but otherwise, the others remained unfazed.

“That always happens, but the classroom hasn’t burned down yet,” Ike said mildly.

“That is very reassuring.” Soren deadpanned as he added a scoop of butter into his pan. The soft mass sizzled quietly before melting on the heated metal. Soren quickly added the diced onions and waited for them to brown. The fragrance of fried onions filled the air, as he tossed in his ham and mushrooms.

“That smells good.”

Soren looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and saw the scarred man staring longingly at his pan.

“Tibarn, looks like you’re settling in well.” Ike nodded, addressing the man.

“Ike! Quick, you gotta help me!” Tibarn said. “Reyson’s trying to convert me into _one of those_.”

“Look, I just wanted you to try some vegetarian food for once. Is that really so hard?” Reyson (Soren presumed) snapped, holding the spatula like a spear.

“ _Yes._ ” Tibarn said empathically. “You don’t understand. For people like me, meat is love, meat is life. Ike gets it, doesn’t he?”

“It’s true, I do like meat.” Ike nodded sagely.

“Tibarn Birdperson Phonoecis, you promised me you’d try it,” Reyson said, a steely tinge to his voice. “If you love meat so much, I hope you’re prepared to spend some time on the couch for it.”

“Oh? Somehow I doubt that.” Tibarn flashed a seductive grin. The two stared at each other for a solid minute with no sign of either side relenting. It was Soren who broke the silence.

“Ike, your mushrooms are burning.”

“Ah crud.”

And with that, the spell broke and both stations went back to their cooking. As Soren watched Ike fuss over his mushrooms, he cracked open his eggs and carefully picked out the stray pieces of shell. After he was satisfied, he beat them until the yolk and whites became indistinguishable. Seasoning with salt and pepper, Soren prepared to start making his omelette.

The moment the block of butter touched the pan, Soren knew that he messed up. The pan had overheated due to his inattentiveness and the butter was on the verge of burning. Quickly, Soren poured in his egg mixture, the pan sizzling from the heat.

But the problems didn’t stop there.

The pan was heavy, and his wrists were weak. He had a precious few seconds before the egg firmed up but his jerky movements made the spread of the egg uneven. Soren frowned. There were going to be holes in his omelette.

“Need a hand?” Before Soren could reply, Ike reached out and steadied his shaking hand with his own. The erratic flow of the egg mixture stabilized and spread evenly across the pan.

Soren jerked away from his touch.

“Woah! Soren, are you okay?” Ike fumbled with the pan, almost falling over in the process. Amidst Soren’s fear and annoyance, he felt a flash of guilt.

“Sorry, it’s my fault,” Ike said, suddenly serious. “I shouldn’t have done that before asking for your permission. I won’t do it again.”

Surprised by Ike’s candid apology, Soren searched his eyes for traces of mockery but, to his surprise, he found none. “...It’s fine.” Soren muttered, feeling the tension ease slightly from his shoulders.

Unwilling to dwell on the moment, Soren gripped the handle of his pan again and regained his bearings. After hesitating for an instant, he quickly added the filling to the center of the egg mixture. The hardest part was yet to come.

Soren carefully tilted the pan to one side and used his spatula to fold a third of the omelette over the middle. His wrists wobbled with the effort but they managed to hold.

Finally, he positioned the pan above his serving plate and tilted, both hands clutching the handle. The omelette fell, folding itself onto the plate. It wasn’t perfect. The egg was a little overcooked, the patterns on the surface showed how uneven the mixture was spread, it wasn’t symmetrical in the least and some of it hung off the plate, but all in all, it looked like an omelette.

Soren looked at his dish and felt a faint sense of accomplishment. It was an imperfect, disposable product that held no significance or meaning, but he had made it, and it was his.

“Next time I’ll tell Oscar to get you a smaller pan. It’ll be easier on your wrists.” Soren turned to see Ike looking at his station with apt attention, ceasing the preparation of his own omelette. From his posture, Soren supposed that Ike would have stepped in if had he seen him struggling again.

Soren regarded Ike as he turned back towards his own neglected omelette with a frown. Soren had met many “helpful” people in his life, but their "help" always came with strings attached. He could recognize when kind words were used to push an agenda, or when charity bled into self-righteousness, but Ike was a bit of a mystery. There was no reason for him to extend that care and consideration towards Soren, especially given Soren’s unfriendly demeanor, but he did so anyway. Suddenly, all Soren could think of was Ike’s warm hand around his own.

“Thank you for helping me,” Soren said quietly, before his brain had even registered the words.

Ike paused his movements and turned towards Soren. And like that, he smiled — an honest, idyllic smile devoid of all falsity and ulterior motives. Soren found himself basking in its warmth. “Now we’re even. You helped me with the mushrooms first.”

Soren nodded numbly and looked away. By the time he had finished collected his thoughts, Ike had finished his omelette (although using the word “omelette” was a bit of a stretch). Looking around, the others had put the finishing touches on their dishes as well.

Oscar began traversing the aisles, giving advice and comments as he passed.

“There’s no need to be nervous in the kitchen, Tanith. Cooking takes a lot of practice so don’t worry about messing up.”

“I’ll work harder...” The brown-haired woman (Tanith) said with a sigh, as she washed her bloodstained cutting board.

* * *

“Ilyana, are you okay? Did you manage to get some cooking done today?” Oscar bent down and asked the girl faceplanted onto the floor.

“Hngh… so… hungry...” She groaned.

“... I’ll make you something after class is over.”

* * *

“Kieran...” Oscar looked at the charcoal mess on the plate in front of him, and then back at the fiery redhead standing behind the countertop that had been utterly decimated with scratches, burn marks, and foam.

“My eternal rival! Today I am forced to admit defeat, but rest assured, I will rise to cross spatulas with you again!” Kieran shouted with great, unabashed enthusiasm.

“...Thank the Goddess you’re simple.”

“Did you say something, my archrival?”

“No, nothing.”

* * *

“Um, Mist? Why does it look like you tried making an omelette using only one egg?”

Mist simply sent a glare in Ike’s direction.

* * *

“Boyd, just because we’re related doesn’t mean you don’t have to try.” Oscar frowned at the sloppy mess of an omelette. The omelette had no shape whatsoever and the filling didn’t even looked cooked.

Boyd looked sheepish as he said, “Aww, come on! Your cooking’s great, so what’s the point of me learning it anyhow?”

“Last time you ‘helped’ Mist while she was on cooking duty, you almost gave everyone food poisoning.” Oscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Boyd gulped and promised to put in more effort.

* * *

“Tibarn and Reyson… How did both of your omelettes end up on the floor?”

The duo glared at each other, the dying flames of conflict reigniting with a single spark. Suddenly the atmosphere on the other side of the counter rose a couple of degrees.

“...Actually, I don’t even want to know.” With that, Oscar wisely escaped before any more damage could be done.

* * *

“Ike, much improved. Your plating’s a little sloppy but everything looks edible.”

“Oscar, there’s no need to be nice. I’m well aware my omelette is a mess.” Ike scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Oscar smiled. “I’m not lying, Ike. I remember when you used to cook until food turned into charcoal. Now look at you, I can tell that used to be egg!”

“It’s all thanks to you.”

* * *

"Soren…” Oscar started, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for the right words.

“I believe I performed adequately.”

“No, no! I’m just surprised!” Oscar quickly found his bearings and replied hastily. “This is incredible for a first-timer! It looks like my worries were unfounded. If you want, you can handle your own station as soon as next week.”

Soren nodded silently. Oscar seemed to get the idea and returned to the front of the class.

“With this, our session is over! Feel free to stay and eat your omelettes, we still have the room booked for another 30 minutes. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be free until 2:00PM.”

Right after Oscar announced the end of class, all the incompetent cooks scattered and regrouped. Tanith and Kieran approached Oscar; the former probably had questions while the latter most likely went to bother his “eternal rival” some more. The rest of them grouped squarely around Ike (to Soren’s surprise).  

“Ike my man, are you really going to eat that?” Tibarn raised an eyebrow as Ike raised his fork.

“Yeah,” Ike said bluntly. “I’ve survived Mist’s cooking, I’ll survive my own.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’ve improved a lot since then!” Mist pouted.

“It’s true, I can actually swallow it these days!” Boyd laughed. Mist looked at him with narrowed eyes, but the quirk of her lips betrayed her true feelings.

“So… hungry...”

“Ah! Don’t eat food off the floor, Ilyana!”

Soren was quickly pushed into the corner of the station as he watched the scene unfold with Ike at the epicenter. It was odd — odd how Soren hadn’t seen it coming. Ike was not a talkative young man, but he had a type of sincerity and charisma that instinctively made others place their trust in him. Really, Soren should have known better.

Icarus fell from flying too close to the sun, and Soren would not make the same mistake.

Losing his appetite, he quickly photographed his omelette as proof before pushing his plate towards Ilyana.

Soren slipped away quietly, in the midst of the chaos, making sure that nobody would miss his presence. However, on impulse he looked back for a second and caught Ike waving him goodbye.

Soren turned away without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE, THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY LONGFIC :D
> 
> Pray to god I actually finish this ;;;;
> 
> I actually barely have any chapters saved up so updates will be sporadic after ch 2. My outline accounts for 9 chapters including an epilogue with potential for 1 extra chapter, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Please nag me if you like this because I'm severely lacking in self-discipline and have never finished a longfic in my life ;;;;
> 
> Special thanks to Measured and my other beta for helping me through this! If all goes according to plan, it's going to be a long ride.


	2. The Second Recipe: Prawn Fritters

Soren stumbled back to his empty dorm room, wanting to do nothing more than to get back to his homework. As he dug through his backpack for his printouts, his phone lit up, revealing seven missed texts from his mother. Cursing, Soren mentally prepared himself as he unlocked his cellphone.

_7 New Text Messages: Saturday, 1:30PM._

**Almedha:** Have you eaten yet?  
**Almedha:** Honey?  
**Almedha:** Why aren’t you picking up?  
**Almedha:** I’m worried.  
**Almedha:** Soren? Are you there?  
**Almedha:** If you’re there then please pick up.  
**Almedha:** Why aren’t you answering the phone???

Soren had no energy to deal with his mother’s overprotective streak, but he knew that if he didn’t, he’d have a whole onslaught of problems in the future. He scrolled through his contacts for her number — a quick process considering as hers was the only one saved on his phone. She picked up instantly.

“It’s me.”

“Are you safe? Are you alright? Why didn’t you pick up the phone?!”

“I told you about the cooking class.” Soren tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, to no avail.

“Yes… I remember that.” She paused. “But you could have found time to text me back, right?”

“It’s quite busy in the kitchen. I don’t think another distraction is in my best interests.”

“That sounds troublesome. I still think it’d be better if I came and stayed with you... It’d ease my mind.”

“We’ve been through this already.” Soren snapped. “I’ll be busy from now on from 9:30 to 2:30. I’ll message you after that.”

“Okay, don’t be mad. I’m just worried about you...” She trailed off. “...Have you eaten?”

“Yes. I’m sending over the photos now.”

“Okay.” She paused and Soren could feel her fumbling for words through the other side of the phone. “I’m glad you’re ok,” she said in a small voice.

Soren closed his eyes. He never knew what to make of it when she used that tone with him.

“Soren?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Soren hung up before she could say any more. He stared at the phone in his hand for a whole minute before resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. He only refrained because it wasn’t productive; ignoring her calls, regardless of whatever legitimate excuses he had, would only send her into a panicked frenzy.

The last time her paranoia struck, she had nearly locked him inside the house for an entire week.

This was his so-called mother.

It was difficult because Soren knew she was trying. He could still remember the warmth of her embrace when she found him at 14, the wetness against his shoulders as she held him in a vice-like grip and cried. That was the moment Soren knew that he was loved.

But as it stood, her love was a chain that forcibly tethered him to her. Nothing more, nothing less.

Soren forced himself out of his thoughts. Thinking about what he could not change was a waste of time, and he had a GPA to maintain.

Taking out his textbook, Soren drowned himself in his work, his obstructive thoughts sinking back into the depths of his mind, where they rightfully belonged.

* * *

By the time Monday came about, Soren had settled back into his usual schedule. He woke up at 7:00 AM, put together a simple breakfast of milk and cereal and watched the morning news on his phone. Then he sent his mother proof that he didn’t starve, and got ready for an entire day camping out on campus by 8:00 AM.

The earliest classes started at 8:30 AM, so when Soren arrived, the campus grounds still held a certain stillness as the sun peeked over the horizon, a dash of orange against the clear, blue sky. Soren shivered as he pulled up the collar of his turtleneck and trudged through the snow, towards the salted walkways.

He relished the biting air, the silence, and the vast plane of white that stretched out before him. When he was younger, Soren thought of himself as a child of winter (back when he desperately wanted a mom). Winter was harsh, silent, and unwelcoming, but the cold would numb the pain after a while — and that was the greatest kindness Soren could ever obtain.

Soren scoffed at his own childish thoughts: now he knew better. Winter was frostbite and hypothermia, no better or worse than any other season. Yet somehow, the irrational part of him still felt at ease whenever he looked out towards that white, white world.

Soren leisurely walked towards the library, aiming for a quiet corner to set up camp until his classes began. The first floor consisted of a small cafe that sold overpriced coffee, and a computer lab primarily used to access specific databases. Of the two, Soren was interested in the latter. Out of necessity, he had grown accustomed to analog forms of report-writing, and despite his newfound wealth, old habits were hard to shed. Soren had little need for a computer of his own. If he could use the school’s resources for free, then he saw no reason to make the rather sizable investment. Pen and paper did fine as note-taking materials, and his homework and assignments were all written into notebooks until Soren found the time to type them up on the library computer.

By the time Soren finished typing up his work, it was about time to leave for his morning class. Printing out his assignment for a small fee, Soren left his spot in the computer lab and made his way towards the math lecture hall. But just as he exited the library, his path was blocked by a crowd of people.

Soren was about to push through when he noticed the video cameras and boom operator pointing towards the center of the maelstrom. Soren frowned in frustration. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t care. If this made him late for class, the offender was going to pay.

As Soren pushed through the sea of people, he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of blue hair. Standing at the center of the crowd was Ike — the Ike he knew from cooking class. His brows were furrowed as he stood stiffly by an older woman decorated with gold jewelry. The woman smiled at him seductively as her right hand clung to his shoulder like a vice.

“...And after this you’ll let me go print my thing?” Ike asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Of course Ikey-poo! Now, remember to smile for the camera.”

The cameraman made a hand signal and the woman took her eyes off Ike, turning to face the camera.

“This is Aimee from Crimea Local, reporting on sports.” The woman’s distractingly red lips curled into a smile. “You asked and we delivered. Today we’ve managed to track down the great Hero of Crimea for an exclusive interview!”

That’s when it hit Soren. Ike, as in Ike Greil. As in the student who had led Crimea to an upset victory against Daein in his last year of high school. As in the sports scholarship student who got a knee injury during his first semester of university and mysteriously quit the team after announcing his recovery. As in son of one of the greatest American football stars in the recent era, whose prowess was unmatched until a sudden injury forced him into early retirement.

Soren was normally ignorant about sports but he had watched a morning news program on the subject before and knew of some details. As he had no interest in the subject, the information was quickly discarded from his brain, but nonetheless, Soren was relieved that he could at least place where he’d seen Ike’s face before.

He had many reasons to avoid ghosts from his past.

“So the question on everyone’s mind is, why did you decide to leave football?” Aimee asked, snapping Soren out of his daze. “It’s been months but the great hero has refused to answer. Could it be, he’s about to answer us today?” Aimee cooed, shoving the microphone in Ike’s face.

“That’s a really personal question.” Ike brow furrowed deeply. “I’d rather not answer that.”

“Fair enough.” To Soren’s surprise, Aimee dropped the line of questioning instantly. “More importantly, now that you’re quit pro football, you’ve got a lot more time on your hands, yes?”

Ike nodded, eyes narrowing slightly at her sudden shift in tone.

“Our female viewers want to know, now that you’ve got plenty of time to date, is there a lucky lady in your life?” Aimee moved closer, trailing a finger down Ike’s bicep.

“… Can you stand a little further away?” Ike frowned.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Aimee winked unsubtly, flipping her wavy brown hair. “Do you have a type then? How about tall and shapely older women with luscious wavy locks?”

Soren actually cringed. The woman flirted with Ike for a couple more minutes before she was forced to stop the broadcast. The crowd thinned as the cameras packed up, but the vast majority stayed and eyed Ike with worship and praise.  

Regardless, it had nothing to do with Soren. Ike was little more than a stranger at the end of the day, and he was going to be late for his class.  

The thinning of the crowd left Soren with just enough space to pass. Squeezing through the mass of people with clenched teeth, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally made it to the opposite side of the human barricade. Soren dusted himself off out of habit, but as he looked up, he caught Ike’s eye. To Soren’s surprise, Ike waved at him.

Soren ignored him and left for class. Yes, Ike was just a stranger. They didn’t have any special bond nor did they have anything in common. Their only connection — being station partners — would be gone starting next week. Sooner or later, Ike would give up on him, and Soren could return to his comfortable obscurity.

Class ended without any additional hindrances and Soren was free to go for lunch. He had an hour and a half before his next class which meant camping out was his best, most efficient option. Seeking a private place to eat, Soren made his way towards the old history building, the only brick and mortar structure in a world of steel and glass. It was tall, damp, and filled with unused classrooms, which meant nobody spent time there unless they needed a place to work on their group projects.

Following the winding hallways, Soren found his destination — a small stone garden nestled within a crook of the building. Soren had happened upon it by chance and quickly took to the serene and isolated location. When he sat near the edge of the garden, under the ledge of one particular staircase, he was shielded from the elements in a way that didn’t compromise the view.

Soren trudged through the snow, approaching his usual spot when he suddenly froze. There, curled up against the brick wall was Ike — fast asleep, a splash of colour against a blank white canvas.

Soren should have left. He should have left and yet despite every logical part of him telling him it was in his best interests to do so, he didn’t. Perhaps it was the tinge of exhaustion in Ike’s features, perhaps it was the pitiful nature of that morning’s horrible interview, or perhaps it was Soren’s own memory of frozen joints and hypothermia that prompted him to stay.  

“Wake up.” Soren hesitantly prodded Ike’s shoulder. When he didn’t stir, Soren used more force.

Ike’s eyelashes fluttered as he was nudged awake. His expression showed confusion and then recognition as his gaze focused on Soren.

“Are you an idiot?” Soren hissed.

Ike blinked, perhaps not awake enough to process the sudden insult.

“Surely you don’t need me to tell you that falling asleep outdoors during winter is a bad idea.”

Ike scratched the back of his neck. “Nah, it’s not cold enough for that. Besides, I was only out for a few minutes.”

“What were you doing here anyway?” Soren asked before he could stop himself.

Ike hummed and rubbed his hands together for warmth, collecting his thoughts. “I needed to get away, if that makes any sense.”

When Ike didn’t elaborate, Soren didn’t push it. He had seen the crowd during this morning’s “interview” (and Soren was using that word very loosely). Given the way the masses spread mindless gossip, by now Ike would have become the most sought-after person on campus. And Soren of all people could understand the need to be alone.

The growl of Ike’s stomach broke the tentative silence between them.

“Sorry, I forgot to get lunch,” Ike said. “Do you mind if I eat here?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Oh.” Ike got to his feet and dusted the snow off of his jeans. “I guess I was disturbing you, huh? Sorry about that.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “You were, but that’s not what I meant. There’s a much better location this way.”

Without checking to see whether Ike was following him, Soren made his way towards his usual spot. From under the brick ledge, Soren brushed the remaining snow off the concrete stairs and perched himself onto the very top step. Curious, Ike mirrored his movement and sat down beside him. That was when Soren opened the door behind them, just a crack, and let out the warm air from indoors.

“Oh wow,” Ike said breathlessly.

Soren responded to Ike’s praise by unpacking his lunch. Within his lunch box rested a hastily thrown together sandwich: salmon and pickle on rye bread. The salmon was canned for easy storage, the pickle had been sitting in his fridge for months, and the bread was stale — a remnant from two weeks ago. If Soren hadn’t added mayonnaise to the mix, it would’ve been far too dry to eat, but as it stood, it made for an acceptable meal.

“That’s your lunch?” Ike frowned.

Soren paused as he took a photo of the sandwich, preparing to text his mother the proof. “What is it?”

Ike answered by unpacking his lunch, revealing a lunch box at least triple the size of Soren’s. Inside was packed with braised short ribs, lightly charred brussel sprouts, and prawn fritters, all on a gigantic bed of rice with fresh salad on the side. Soren balked at the sheer amount of food, just as Ike retrieved an additional thermos full of piping hot soup from his bag.

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook,” Soren said.

“I don’t. Oscar made this.” Ike said, taking a fork out of his napkin. “Here, have some.”

Soren looked at Ike with suspicion until Ike clarified, “I’m not letting you eat that.” It wasn’t much of a clarification but given Ike’s intense and adamant stare, Soren was convinced he’d throw his sandwich out if he didn’t comply. After a moment’s deliberation, he sighed and gingerly took a fried prawn. He would’ve gone for the salad but he didn’t want to give Ike another excuse to look at him like that.

Under Ike’s scrutiny, Soren took a bite out of the prawn. It was firm, juicy, and crispy despite its extended stay inside a sealed lunch box. Even though Soren was not someone who particularly enjoyed the process of eating, he had to admit that the food was delicious.

Only after he finished his prawn did Ike begin eating. Ike ate with the vigor of a thousand starving men. If there were such thing as a speed-eating contest, Soren was certain that Ike would have taken gold, silver, and bronze.  

“Now I get why you need cooking lessons,” Ike said between large mouthfuls of food. When Soren looked at him, confused, he continued. “You definitely need to learn some better recipes.”

“I didn’t take you for a food connoisseur.”

“I’m not. Not really.” Ike swallowed before continuing. “It’s just your omelette yesterday looked really good. I don’t get how you can go from making something like that to making something like this.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“It bugs me,” Ike said, with a serious face. “You didn’t eat your omelette last time either. I was worried.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed. This was the second time someone became concerned about his eating habits. Frankly, he didn’t feel like it was either of their business. He considered retorting when Ike pushed another prawn into his lunch box.

“Have another, it’s good,” Ike said, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was that smile again — that honest, idyllic smile that made Soren’s throat tighten up. Suddenly, Soren couldn’t find it in him to deny Ike.

Nibbling at the shrimp, Soren turned his focus back on the lunch box in Ike’s hands. “Does Oscar make all of your meals?”

“Oh, mostly,” Ike spoke, starting on his salad. “We live in the same dorms and he’s in charge of cooking there. But one time he got sick and with nobody on kitchen duty, Mist nearly gave everyone food poisoning. It was pretty bad, but that’s when Oscar got the idea for cooking classes.”

“I see,” Soren said. He wasn’t particularly interested in these matters but he had never seen Ike so talkative before. He was full of energy, in complete contrast to when Soren found him sitting in the snow.

“We were gonna keep it a family thing but Oscar met a couple of other people who wanted lessons so it became an official club in the end.” Ike finished, as he packed up his empty lunch box and started working on the soup.

Soren took the moment to send his mother a picture of his lunch. While he didn’t end up actually eating his sandwich, taking a picture of Ike’s lunch would prompt a flurry of questions that Soren had no energy to deal with. Just as he finished his text, Ike too finished his soup.

That was when Soren realized the strangeness of his situation. Soren _always_ ate alone and yet today he had made an exception.

There was a moment of silence as Ike regarded Soren in kind.

“I thought you didn’t like me.” Ike suddenly said, looking at Soren with those steady blue eyes.

Soren froze. Ike didn’t elaborate but they both knew what he had been referring to.

“...Then why did you keep greeting me?” Soren pulled his knees up to his chest and searched Ike’s face for answers. “If you knew I was ignoring you, then why didn’t you stop?”

“Force of habit,” Ike said, touching the back of his neck. “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Soren felt uncomfortable under the intensity of Ike’s gaze. Ike seemed to sense this and looked away, giving him space to make his decision. If he wanted nothing to do with Ike, now was the time. Soren was certain that as soon as he said the word, Ike would no longer bother him in the least. He and Ike were basically strangers. Besides, he had wanted Ike to leave him alone to begin with. So why was he hesitating now? Soren’s mouth felt dry.

For a moment, they sat there, Soren silent and Ike waiting patiently for his reply.

“No, it’s fine.” Soren finally said. It was a little too late to pretend he didn’t care anyway. If Soren didn’t care about Ike, he would have left him asleep in the snow — that much was certain. While Soren couldn’t figure out why this was, he had already made his decision.

“I see,” Ike said. “Does that mean we’re friends now?”

“Hardly. We’re acquaintances at best.”

And like that, Ike laughed. Ike laughed and the rest of the world faded out of existence. Ike laughed and it was as if winter had turned to spring, then to summer, all in an instant. A warm feeling spread through Soren, a foreign feeling.

“I have to get going now,” Ike said, mirth fading from his face as he woke Soren from his daze. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yes.” Soren all but whispered.

Ike waved him goodbye, and this time, Soren waved back.

* * *

 When Soren’s classes ended, the first thing he did was visit the nearby grocery store. Unwilling to waste a perfectly good meal, he ate his salmon and pickle sandwich for dinner, but that had left him with a conundrum — he needed something else to show his mother as proof for dinner.

Picking up some fresh bread and a dozen eggs, Soren scanned the aisles for bargains and weekly promotions. His steps slowed in front of the frozen meats section, as his eyes stopped on the bargain deal on shrimp. His fingers twitched as he debated whether or not he should take the risk before dumping the pack of frozen shrimp into his basket.

When he arrived back at his dorm, Soren looked up the recipe for prawn fritters on his phone. After memorizing the required steps, he started preparing the necessary ingredients.

Before he could get started, there was already a problem: Soren’s shrimp were still frozen. Thinking it through for a minute, Soren put a handful of shrimp in a large bowl and filled it with water, to quicken the thaw.

After doing so, he began working on the coating. Cracking open two eggs (carefully), Soren whisked until the yolk mixed with the whites, before adding flour, salt, pepper, and baking powder to the mix.

He stirred the egg and flour until the mixture became smooth, taking many breaks throughout. In the end, Soren’s right arm was sore from physical exertion, but the batter came out smooth and clump-free, much to his satisfaction.

After Soren’s long and laborious exertion, the shrimp were soft and appeared to be defrosted. Soren’s fingers felt cold as he fished them out of the water. After shaking off his hands, he dredged them into the batter, careful to coat them evenly. Finally, it was time for the most difficult step.

Soren heated up a pan of hot oil and slowly lowered the battered shrimps inside by the tail. The sudden crackling surprised Soren as his grip on the shrimp slipped and the boiling oil splattered over his hand. Hissing, Soren scrambled towards the sink and ran the burn under cold water.

His skin felt raw and throbbed painfully, but thankfully the damage wasn’t obvious. It wouldn’t leave his mother asking any questions at least. Turning back to his pan, Soren’s expression blackened as he stared at the single shrimp that had become completely inedible. Fishing it out with a wooden spatula, Soren refocused on his task with renewed concentration.

As it turns out, the concentration didn’t help. Soren would always flip the shrimps too late, leaving them slightly burnt, but when he tried to remedy that, he turned them too early and too often, causing the coating to fall off. He stared at his completed platoon of shrimps with great dissatisfaction.

Unable to do anything to reconcile the situation, Soren sandwiched a row of deep fried shrimp between two pieces of white bread, and took the picture at an angle that hid the glaring imperfections, before sending it to his mother.

* * *

 The next day, Ike found him again in the stone garden for lunch. Soren had anticipated this, given the fact that the previous day’s “interview” aired this morning, so he greeted him without surprise. They sat on the concrete stairs in comfortable silence, looking out at the slowly falling snow.

When Soren took out his lunch box, revealing a dozen burnt shrimp with a blank expression, Ike guffawed. Soren felt the sudden urge to shove a handful snow into his face.

* * *

 Next Sunday, Oscar announced that they were making prawn fritters. Soren stared at Ike accusingly while Ike merely chuckled in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've waited until I actually finished chapter 4 before posting this, but I just realized that a weekly updating schedule wasn't going to work so I said whatever and did it anyway ToT) 
> 
> I forgot that I was going to go on vacation after this semester was over. My relatives are going to drag me all over the country so I probably won't have time to write before I get back. I barely have any backlogged chapters so ahahah ;;; while I'm on vacation you'll be getting 2 months of nothing TvT)/ I'm very sorry!
> 
> I should be able to get chapter 4 done before that but with finals coming up and my planned vacation, it might be a while before this fic is completed. Just a heads up.
> 
> Once again, thanks to Measured and my other beta for helping me out ^^)/ Hope the rest of you enjoy!


	3. The Third Recipe: Palate Cleanser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No recipe this chapter, folks!
> 
> Special thanks to achingbonesofmine (https://achingbonesofmine.tumblr.com/) for allowing me to use their poetry in this chapter! :D Please go and check out their wonderful poems!

“Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Yes, Ike.” Soren sighed. “You of all people know how little of an appetite I have.”

Soren glanced at Ike as he took a prawn fritter from his plate and popped it into his mouth. “Oh, it’s good,” Ike said, surprise tinging his face.

“Don’t make me regret letting you work beside me,” Soren said dryly as he washed his hands at their shared station.

Indeed, Soren wasn’t sure what to think when Ike unpacked his things beside him this morning and asked if he could be his permanent station partner. They’d seen each other every day for lunch since Ike’s awkward interview aired so if anything, Soren figured Ike would have been sick of him by now, but evidently that wasn’t the case.

Soren looked up at Ike from the corner of his eye. For the most part, working with Ike was much like eating with Ike — a rather peaceful experience. Ike wasn’t someone for inane chatter, which Soren greatly appreciated. If he didn’t have anything to say, he’d work beside Soren in comfortable silence. Perhaps this was one of the reasons he had allowed it in the first place.

Even now, Soren still couldn’t quite understand why he was so lenient towards Ike. He had pondered it many times back at his dorm, but the only answers that came to mind were vague possibilities all echoing the same sentiment: that he was quite partial to Ike. And that was beyond rare for Soren, so much so that it threw him off.

“Here.” Ike held a deep fried prawn to Soren’s face, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Try one of mine.”

Soren stared at the fiery red shrimp. No matter how Ike cooked it, a prawn fritter had no right to be that red. He was about to refuse, but seeing the expectant look on Ike’s face, he gingerly took a bite.

Soren regretted it instantly.

A burning sensation filled his mouth as his throat nearly closed off, fighting off the foreign irritant. “...How much chili powder did you add?” Soren forced out.

Ike popped one of his fritters into his mouth. “It wasn’t that much. Do you not like spicy food?”

“Hah, Ike’s ‘not that much’ is unbearable for most people.” Tibarn chimed in, poking his head into their station. “You should probably get him some milk.”

Ike’s expression became grim with guilt as he watched Soren fail to choke back his coughs. “Sorry. I’m… that’s my bad.”

“I’m fine.” Soren hoarsely said, forcing himself to stand a little straighter. “I chose to eat it. The onus is on me. Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Tibarn whistled. “He’s tough for his size. Nice catch, Ike!” Ike ignored his comment and handed Soren a glass of milk as Reyson elbowed him in the side. “Relax, you’re still the hottest.” Tibarn grinned. Reyson responded by shoving a broccoli fritter into his mouth, starting yet another argument between them.

“Is everything alright here?” Oscar asked, walking towards their station.

“Everything’s fine,” Soren said blandly, the last of his coughs subsiding.

Oscar nodded after confirming Soren’s health and started examining their dishes. Staring at Soren’s plate for a second, he smiled. “I must say, your fritters aren’t at all like how Ike described them.”

Ike chuckled as Soren sent a glare his way.

Oscar smiled at them knowingly before heading back to the front of the classroom and ending the session. As Soren took a picture of his prawns, he noticed Boyd and Mist approach Ike.

“Where’ve you been this past week? It’s like you’ve disappeared off the map!” Boyd swung an arm over Ike’s shoulder, looking aggrieved. “Your fans have been hounding us left, right and center, you know? The rest of us can’t even eat in peace!”

“Yeah, if there’s really such a miraculous hiding spot, then you should let us in on it.” Tibarn said, crossing his arms. “Reyson nearly punched the last guy who disturbed our lunch. I’m pretty sure he’d kill for some peace and quiet by now.”

Soren froze. He hadn’t considered this possibility. He had been so busy enjoying Ike’s company, he had forgotten that his primary attachment to the stone garden was how it provided him a peaceful place to eat. By letting Ike into his world, he had opened up the possibility of intrusion. That should’ve been a foreseeable consequence, yet it had slipped his mind entirely. Ike had every right to tell his friends about it, and Soren had no right to object.

Soren chewed his lip in nervousness, preparing for the worst.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Ike said, much to Soren’s surprise. Soren gingerly lifted his head and peered at Ike, who looked at his friends, firm in his rejection.   

Boyd and Tibarn glanced at each other before laughing. “Nevermind, being surrounded by girls is a pretty neat experience, even if they’re all asking for you!” Boyd brushed it off with a good-natured smile. Mist’s eyes narrowed dangerously at that statement.

“Excuse me.” A sudden voice redirected the flow of the conversation. Soren turned to see Tanith (the stern woman, he mentally noted) approaching Ike’s station. Judging from the others’ reactions, he could tell that this wasn’t a common occurrence. “Ike, can I ask you for a favor?”

“What is it?” Ike asked.

“I wanted to know...is Marcia living in your family’s dorms by any chance?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Tanith’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a sigh of relief. “Can you let her know that I want to talk to her? I’ve been having a hard time tracking her down since she left the team.”

“Wait, Marcia left the Pegasus Knights?” Mist piped up. “Why? She loved volleyball!”

Soren paused. While he didn’t know anything about this Marcia person, he recently read some news about the Crimean University volleyball team. Apparently, the school had to launch an investigation into the prolonged harassment of its members. The incident was one of the main reasons why the school was doubling down on outsiders trespassing on university premises.

Tanith nodded primly. “That’s what I’d like to know. Marcia was a promising athlete and I found it hard to believe when she quit without notice.”

Soren noticed Ike pause, his eyes turning distant for a split second. “I’ll talk to Marcia about it, but if she doesn’t want to see you, then it’s out of my hands.”

“Thank you. The Pegasus Knights and I appreciate your help on this matter.” Tanith said with a slight smile, bidding her farewells and returning to her station to pack up.

Soren looked at Ike curiously as he stuffed the prawn fritters into his mouth with gusto. Perhaps he had imagined that brief flash of melancholy.

“Are you heading out now?” Ike asked, looking straight at Soren.

“Yes,” Soren replied as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll see you around,” Ike smiled.

Soren hummed noncommittally and turned to leave. That’s when he caught Mist regarding him curiously out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, a hint of understanding crossed her features as she flashed a dazzling smile his way. Soren felt a little unnerved and left without looking back.

* * *

Next Monday, Soren was the first to arrive at the stone garden, much to his surprise. Ever since that fateful day, it was always Ike who greeted him at their spot on the concrete steps. Soren looked around, but his lunch companion was nowhere to be found.

Numbly, he sat on the steps in silence. That’s right, Ike was chased to this cold and desolate place by his fans, and now that the hype had died down, he must have returned to his usual group of friends. It should’ve been obvious to Soren, but once again, it came as a surprise.

Soren felt a flash of annoyance — not at Ike or anything, but at himself. Ike threw him off. Soren was making mistakes in judgement and logic that otherwise should have been unthinkable. It was a mistake not to reflect and adjust his strategy, but to do so, Soren first had to pinpoint the problem.

Why was Ike so important to him?

After thinking it through for a moment, Soren quietly admitted that his time with Ike was the closest he’s ever gotten to someone — it was the closest thing to companionship he’s ever had.

“That’s pathetic,” a voice said. It sounded like his own, but it could have been just another echo from the past. Still, a part of him was inclined to believe it.

The other part, the more rational part, told him the opposite: that different people had different fates and that was simply the way of the world. Some people are blessed with family, friends, and money, while others aren’t. Soren of all people knew how unfair the world could be. He was no longer a starving, abandoned child and that was already plenty.

Just as he made his peace with the fact, the sound of crunching snow caught his attention. Looking up, he saw Ike jogging towards him, leaving deep footprints in the snow, his red scarf unfurling behind him in his inattentiveness — and for an instant, something inside Soren thawed.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Ike said, stopping at the base of the stairs as he looked up at Soren with his steady blue eyes. “I got caught up with something.”

“I...I thought you’d go to your friends.” Soren couldn’t help stuttering, caught off guard by his earnest gaze.

“I wouldn’t go without saying anything to you first,” Ike said, casually taking a seat next to Soren.

“You could’ve just told me next cooking class.”

Ike hummed, unpacking his lunch. “That still didn’t seem right.”

“Oh...” Soren said lamely. Still a little blindsided by Ike’s words, he sat there in a daze. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure about his previous conclusions anymore.

Ike raised his head and met Soren’s stare with a look of concern.   

“It’s nothing,” Soren said on reflex. “I just… I’m just surprised you came back.” Soren picked at his lunch absent-mindedly.

“Soren, I didn’t want you to think I was just using you,” Ike said, his eyes locked on Soren’s. “Yeah, I came here because it was a convenient place to avoid people, but that’s not the reason I stayed. I like your company.”

Soren tried to speak but all he managed was an unintelligible sound, a sound that caused Ike to break into one of his rare smiles. “It’s true, I feel at ease around you. I don’t have any other way of explaining it, I just do.” He paused. “You’re not bothered by that, are you?”

“No, not at all.” Soren’s eyes widened, speaking without even thinking. “I… enjoy your company as well.”

Ike’s smile widened. For a second, they sat in near-silence, Soren basking in this new revelation and Ike fumbling through his backpack for a fork.

“Besides, it’s not like they’ve left me alone just yet,” Ike said as he fished out the utensil with a flourish. “Boyd’s been telling me that the interviewer lady has been seen on campus recently, and I do not want to run into her again.”

“Ah yes, Aimee from Crimea Local.” Soren snorted. “You have my sympathies for attracting her attention.”

Ike frowned. “It was just one interview. I doubt I’ll see her again any time soon.”

Soren hummed noncommittally. Of course, if her newest appearance on campus was mere coincidence, Ike had nothing to worry about. But still, Soren was doubtful. If that woman managed to get onto campus despite the increased security, her motive couldn’t have been simple.

Still, thinking back to the interview made Soren curious: why had Ike decided not to continue with professional football? Based on what he knew about the man (from browsing the news in his spare time), Ike was a natural sportsman. What was it that made him leave that world?

Soren had considered asking Ike during the many moments of silence that passed between them, but he always decided against it in the end. Ike had mentioned in the interview that his reasons for leaving were personal, so Soren never pushed it. He of all people understood the annoyance known as prying.

His thoughts were interrupted as Ike placed a whole pork chop into Soren’s lunchbox. Soren rolled his eyes but accepted the food.

It had become their weekly ritual by now: Ike giving Soren extra food during lunch on weekdays, and Soren giving Ike some of his cooking on Saturdays. If Soren didn’t like something, he was free to hand it back to Ike and take something else. If Ike didn’t like something… well, that hadn’t happened yet, and Soren had a feeling it wouldn’t happen any time soon.

As Soren nibbled on the tender meat, Ike’s attention was diverted from his lunch to his phone. He fished it out of his pocket and frowned as he read the text.

“Hey, I think I have to go,” Ike said, replying to his message. “Before I do, can you give me your number?”

Soren’s eyes widened despite himself. He knew Ike didn’t mean it _like that_ , but his brain still made the unfortunate leap in logic.

“...Is that a no?” Ike asked, oblivious. “I just thought it’d be more convenient going forward.”

“No! I mean-” Soren bit his tongue before he could make a further mess of himself. “Here,” he said, plucking the phone out of Ike’s hands and punching in his number. He ignored the way Ike’s gaze bore into him as he shoved the phone back into his hands.

“Thanks.” Ike nodded. “I’ll text you after I’m done.”

Before Soren could wrap his mind around what he just did, Ike packed up his things and left. “Have fun in class!” he called before turning leaving the stone garden at a brisk pace. It was only after Soren was completely alone that he buried his face into his hands in mortification.

Again. It had happened again.

And worse yet, Soren was powerless to stop himself.

He was falling out of the sky and into the sea.

* * *

Soren’s class after lunch was an elective on the literary significance of Lehran’s poems. He had to take an English course to complete his degree requirements, and given its subjective nature, he simply chose something that seemed a little less boring.

The professor, the baby-faced Yune, stood on her tiptoes as she tried to erase the writing left behind by the previous class — to no avail. Soren tapped his pen against his notebook as he waited for a student to inevitably help her.

“Crackers, not again!” Soren’s pink-haired deskmate cursed. “This is the third laptop he’s pawned! I’m _so_ going to kill him.”

Soren couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the bizarre statement but ultimately kept silent.

“Excuse me, can I borrow a pencil? Erm, and maybe some paper?”

It took Soren a second to realize she was talking to him. He turned and gave her an impassive stare as she slowly shrunk into her seat in shame. (See, this was the usual reaction to him. Ike was clearly an outlier.)

Soren sighed and handed over a pen before ripping a page out of his notebook for her to use. He was in a complicated mood and he didn’t need a sniveling deskmate annoying him throughout class — that would only make it worse.

“Cool beans! Wow, you’re nicer than you look.” The girl smiled, accepting the stationery. “And here I thought I wouldn’t make any friends in this class.”

Soren couldn’t be bothered to speak so he gave her an icy glare before turning away. Evidently, she missed this as she continued chattering. “I’m Marcia. Hey, did you only take this for your English credit too?”

Soren thought the name sounded familiar, but before he could reply, Yune (who had finished cleaning the chalkboard with the help of a tall student) started lecturing.

“Last class we discussed the impact Lehran’s life had on the content of his poems. His style was defined by his subversions of classic mythology, often creating tales where gods and humans lived in harmony. However, the themes he explored differed greatly throughout his lifetime.”

Yune projected a poem onto the chalkboard, preparing to annotate as she spoke. “On your midterm, you’ll be expected to analyze a number of Lehran’s poems. We could ask you to analyze the form, content, structural semiotics, history, or a mix of all four.”

The classroom filled with groans at that statement. Midterms were still a month away, and nobody wanted to think about them this early.

Yune puffed up her cheeks at this, however. “Today we’ll be practicing this analysis on some of his short poems, but only for content. If you want to do well, stop groaning and pay attention!”

Soren’s gaze drifted to the projected poem when he froze in his tracks.

Icarus faked his death.  
Crawled onto the shore, skin  
Sparkling gold and reddened  
And Apollo said  
“your dad won’t find us here.”

He was jolted out of his reverie by a sharp jab to the upper arm. He looked over to see Marcia writing notes like a storm, only the slight smile on her lips betraying her action. Soren took to her cue and refocused on the lecture.

The class ended without a hitch but just as Soren packed up to leave, a familiar face burst through the door. Tanith entered the room like a woman on a mission, carefully scouring the crowd for her target.

“Crackers!” Marcia muttered as she ducked behind Soren. “Stay still for a second, please!”

Even if Soren wanted to move, he couldn’t. Marcia kept a vice-like grip on his backpack and there was no way he was leaving without it. Soren considered selling her out in an act of petty revenge, but before he could, Tanith turned and left (chasing after another person with pink hair).

“Is she gone?” Marcia asked, her voice muffled by Soren’s backpack.

“Yes.” Soren said tersely. “Now, can you get off?”

Marcia loosened her grip in an instant and sheepishly peeked out from behind Soren. “Sorry about that! Gosh, first I borrow your stuff and then I use you as a meat shield.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Soren said blandly.

Marcia grimaced. “Look, I feel really bad! At least let me treat you to linner.”

Soren raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, as Marcia started digging through her wallet. “Linner?”

“You know, like brunch but-” She stopped speaking just as she dug a piece of paper out of her wallet. It was cut into the perfect size of a dollar bill and even creased like one, but opening it up, it said “IOU 20 bucks — Makalov.”

Marcia crushed the piece of paper in her hands, and screeched, _“Makalov, I’m going to kill you!”_

Soren saw an opportunity and left.

* * *

Returning to his dorms, Soren set his backpack against the wall and absent-mindedly checked his phone.

 _1 New Text Message: Monday, 2:37 PM._  
**???:** hello? is this soren?

Soren stared at the screen for a full second before typing out a reply.

 **Soren:** This is Soren. I assume you’re Ike.

He was about to put it away when his phone vibrated, its screen lighting up, showing a series of new texts.

 **???:** hey  
**???:** sorry about leaving so early today  
**???:** my meeting with my tutor got moved

Soren sank into his chair and began to reply.

 **Soren:** That’s alright.  
**???:** it probably won’t happen again  
**???:** I’ll still be there tomorrow  
**Soren:** Ok, I’ll see you then.  
**???:** :)  
**???:** btw did you run into marcia today?

Soren’s fingers paused for a moment.

 **Soren:** Yes…why?  
**???:** I figured it was you  
**???:** nothing much, she just wanted to thank you for helping her  
**Soren:** I don’t recall doing that.  
**???:** idk the details but that’s what she said  
**???:** she wants to pay off her debts or something  
**???:** would you mind meeting her?  
**???:** you don’t have to

Soren sighed as he leaned against the back of his chair.

 **Soren:** Fine. I won’t be able to avoid her so I might as well get this over with.  
**???:** if you want space I can tell her to leave you alone  
**Soren:** No, she’s my deskmate for one of my classes. I doubt I’d be able to avoid her.  
**???:** I didn’t know that. what course?  
**Soren:** Introduction to the Poems of Lehran.  
**???:** reyson aced that course last year  
**???:** do you want his notes?  
**Soren:** No thank you.  
**???:** it’s no problem. I’m giving a copy to marcia anyway  
**Soren:** Ike, it’s fine.  
**???:** ok

With that, the conversation stalled. Just as Soren was about to put away his phone and start his daily textbook readings, he got a new text.

 **???:** you type like you talk  
**Soren:** Excuse me?  
**???:** it’s funny  
**Soren:** ...Do you have anything important to say or do I have to end our conversation myself?  
**???:** nah, just saying what came to mind  
**???:** are you busy rn?  
**Soren:** A little, I suppose.  
**???:** ok I won’t bother you then  
**???:** have fun studying  
**Soren:** You too.  
**???:** not gonna happen, but thanks

Soren stared at the brief exchange for another minute before tapping the +Add Contact button on his phone. After entering Ike’s name, his new Contact list stared back at him — a second name added to the barren screen, just under his mother’s.

(Never in his wildest imaginations did he think that someday, he’d be adding another name to this list.)

Soren put away his cellphone and fished out his nearest textbook. It wasn’t until he had finished the assigned chapter that he realized he was smiling.

* * *

The next day proceeded as usual, but due to a necessary visit to his professor’s office hours, he was late to his lunch with Ike. As he briskly walked towards the dilapidated history building, Soren pulled out his phone to text Ike when he bumped into someone. His phone clattered as it fell to the floor.

“Crackers, sorry about that.” The annoyingly chipper voice make Soren stop in his tracks. He was about to ignore her and walk away when Marcia gasped with recognition. “Oh hey, it’s you!”

“Yes, it’s me,” Soren said tersely, picking up his phone. While he wondered what she was doing so close to the old history building, he had no interest in conversing with the strange girl for any amount of time. “Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“Marcia!” Another familiar voice rang out, cutting Soren off. Soren’s eyes narrowed.

He dodged deftly as Marcia tried to hide behind him, leaving her to bear the brunt of Tanith’s glare. “I should’ve known you were hiding in the old history building.”

“Oh chestnuts...” Marcia whimpered. “Erm… Captain, what a coincidence! I wasn’t hiding from you or anything, no mam!”

“You left without saying a word to us, and you’ve been avoiding me since then.” Tanith’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Marcia quaked like a newborn deer. “Sigrun is willing to overlook your desertion, but I cannot do that!”

Soren was considering the best way to slip by unnoticed when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He looked behind him to see Ike walking in his direction, his furrowed brow relaxing at the sight of Soren.

“Ike, what are you doing here?” Soren asked, unable to conceal his surprise.

“You didn’t show up or send me any texts so I got worried.” Ike scratched the back of his head before pausing, suddenly realizing the strangeness of the situation. “Wait…what’s going on here?”

“What a great question!” Marcia said quickly. “You and Tanith can just talk here. I’ll just go stand over-”

Ike frowned. “I passed on your message. She didn’t want to meet you.”

“I simply took matters into my own hands after you stepped in,” Tanith said, her voice ice cold. “This doesn’t concern you, Ike.”

Ike’s frown deepened at that. “Marcia’s a friend and a resident of our dorms. If she’s telling you to stop, then I’m backing her up.”

“Don’t mistake her situation for yours. She didn’t quit for the same reasons you did.” Tanith snapped, radiating confidence that sharply contrasted her nervousness in the kitchen. “I just want a proper conversation. Is that really too much to ask?”

“If she doesn’t want to say anything to you then you should respect that,” Ike said, stepping forward.

“Crackers, no… this is…” Marcia stuttered, slightly panicked.

Soren looked from the panicked Marcia to the confrontation between Ike and Tanith. Frankly, this was none of his business, but this meaningless argument was cutting into his lunch time with Ike, and that meant he couldn’t just walk away from the incident.

“Ludicrous...” Soren sighed, breaking the tense silence.

Ike’s brows knit as Tanith glared in his direction. Soren raised his chin and continued speaking. “Arguing amongst yourselves when the person in question is standing right there. If it’s not ludicrous then what is it?”

Soren took advantage of their stunned silence to continue. “You,” he said, glaring at Marcia. “You started this, finish it yourself.”

Ike opened his mouth to speak when Soren cut him off. “This woman wishes to know why you left. You can either tell her the reason or refuse outright.” Soren said. “It’s already come to this; attempting to drag it out any longer is idiocy. Say your piece and be done with it already.”

“Soren...” Ike frowned.

“Tanith is right. Ike, this is none of your business.” Ike flinched at Soren’s sharp words. “Let the two of them resolve it themselves.”

“Oh, this is so embarrassing.” Marcia groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Look, it’s not what you’d think...”

As Marcia struggled to find her tongue and Ike held his, Tanith’s patience broke. “Well, then what is it?” she snapped. “You had so much potential! Others may come and go on a whim, but not you! Is it really so hard to talk to me about it?”

“No, captain, it’s-” Marcia bit her tongue. “It’s not easy to admit this...”

After a moment of silence, Tanith spoke. “Was it me?” she said in a surprisingly small voice. “Was I too strict? Is that why you left?”

Marcia’s eyes widened. “No, of course not! I can’t believe-” Marcia groaned. “This is so dumb… It has nothing to do with you, captain. Everything is because of my stupid brother.”

Tanith blinked in surprise as Marcia gnashed her teeth in fury. “Do you remember the men who kept hanging around during our practice sessions and harassing our members?”

Tanith frowned. “Yes, but the university promised to deal with it.”

“Well, they were there because my sponge-brained brother borrowed money from them and never returned it.” Marcia frowned. “I couldn’t stay any longer after knowing that! Didn’t the harassment stop after I left anyhow? It’s my fault the Pegasus Knights got dragged into this.”

“Marcia, how could it possibly be your fault?” Tanith said, her tone softening.

“But it was!” Marcia said. “You, Sigrun, and the rest of the girls had to put up with so much, and it was all because of me! How could I face you after that?”

“...I see.” Tanith said. Suddenly, against all of Soren’s expectations, she broke into a slow smile. “Then when you come back, we’ll have to punish you accordingly. You’ll be doing double the practice to catch up with the rest of us.”

“Captain?” Marcia gasped.

“The Pegasus Knights won’t be deterred because of something like this,” Tanith said resolutely. “This incident wasn’t your fault, so there’s no need for you to take responsibility by leaving the team. Marcia, as long as you like volleyball, there’ll be a place for you here.”

“Captain... I... Thank you!” Marcia said, rubbing her eyes emotionally.

Soren turned back to Ike and noticed how he looked at the scene with distant eyes. Hesitantly, Soren nudged the side of his arm with his knuckle. Ike paused and turned to face him. After a moment, his expression softened.

“Ike, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this,” Marcia said, turning to face them.

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Ike said, regaining his bearings. “I almost made a real mess of things. Sorry.”

“I should’ve made things clear from the start,” Marcia said. “I worked myself up and got all worried for nothing. I feel so silly now.” She shook her head ruefully.

“As for you...” Marcia suddenly shifted gears and turned to Soren. “I don’t know if I should be mad at you or thank you for giving me a good kick in the pants! After doing that for my brother for so long, I never thought I’d get it done to me!”

With that, Marcia smiled and bid her goodbyes, leaving with Tanith to revoke her resignation from the Pegasus Knights. Soren was left standing there with Ike, watching their silhouettes fade into the distance.

It was Soren who broke the tentative silence. “You should go before someone recognizes you.”

“Wait,” Ike said. “I didn’t thank you yet.”

Soren froze. “Thank me for what, exactly?”

“For stopping me back then. You were right, it was none of my business.”

“Ike... I derided you. Aren’t you upset at all?”

“But you were right,” Ike said. “Soren, the way you speak candidly is one of the things that makes you brilliant. Don’t worry about it.”

Soren paused and regarded Ike. No wonder he was helpless. Ike was always doing things like this, reassuring him in these little ways. All of these tiny moments between them had compounded into something, a single, indisputable truth.

Suddenly, Soren felt a little like Marcia: he’d been worrying about something meaningless this entire time.    

“...Thank you.” Soren finally said, his mind feeling clearer than it had in days.

Ike blinked in surprise. “Soren, you’re smiling.”

“You must be mistaken,” Soren said curtly, turning away. Ike grinned and chased after him, trying to catch another look at his face. Soren did his best to dodge him, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks.

“If you continue this, I’ll have to consider revoking our friendship,” Soren grumbled, hiding his face behind a hand.

“I thought we were acquaintances,” Ike said, bemusement in his voice.

“You may use whichever word you please,” Soren said, deliberately avoiding Ike’s gaze.

“Ok, friends it is.”

Soren peeked at Ike through his fingers; he was smiling again. Soren sighed and lowered his hand. It couldn’t be helped. After all, Soren really was weak to his smile.

Their moment was interrupted by the growling of Ike’s stomach. Soren raised an eyebrow at the sound. “Did you not eat?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“...Ike, you didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Ike said plainly. “Besides, you know how fast I eat. I figured even if you came late, I’d be able to finish before class started.”

Soren frowned. “That argument took a while. Shouldn’t you be heading to class right now?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m late anyhow.”

Soren checked the time on his phone. Damn, he was late too. Just as he pondered the most efficient route to class, his own stomach started growling, interrupting his train of thought.

“Let’s go for lunch,” Ike suggested.

“Ike, are you suggesting I play truant?” Soren asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you ahead in your classes anyway?”

“Well, yes... but what about you?”

Ike shrugged. “I’ll manage. Now come on, I’m starving.”

Soren shook his head helplessly as he stepped into stride beside Ike. Soren wasn’t sure where these steps would eventually lead him — drowning or washed up on shore — but he had already made his decision: as long as Ike remained Ike, Soren would be happy to stand by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hasn't been 100% edited for grammar yet so if you see anything please let me know! I'm just posting this since finals are taking a lot of my time and that's what backlogged chapters are for lol. Sadly I haven't made much progress on chapter 4 so I won't be able to get that done before I go on vacation.
> 
> Good news (kinda) is that the chapters will only get longer from here on in (if everything goes according to plan)! There's still lots more sweetness and drama to come :3 so stay tuned!
> 
> Personal rant time! Ch 3 was the hardest chapter for me since I changed some stuff in my outline to push the "mystery of why Ike quit football" forward X0 I went through at least 4 versions before I came up with something decent (which tbh is still my least favourite chapter TvT) I kept wondering how to bring Marcia into the story in a way that felt (somewhat) organic before I finally settled on this. Looking back, a class with Yune... someone who wants to befriend Soren... I totally missed the chance to get Micaiah into the story TvT but gah I haven't planned on her and Sothe making an appearance so I decided not to do that. Gotta stick to the plan!!!
> 
> Many thanks to my usual betas~ In particular, Measured left some HILARIOUS comments on the first draft of this chapter that I had to share >u>
> 
> Comment 1: oh no, by allowing Ike into my fortress of solitude, now I actually have to talk to people! drats, my plans of eternal introversion ruined! (LOL this is very IC I'm just laughing at Soren's sudden introvert storm)
> 
> Comment 2: "Oh no, what if Ike sends me dick pics? what if I like it?" --wait, that wasn't his frame of mind? (JK)
> 
> Have fun, folks ^^


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